Killing Time (One-Eyed Jacks) Read Online Free Page A

screwed up and got most of your unit and dozens of innocent civilians killed.” His eyes went hard as stone.
    “I need to know why. I need to know who paid you to sell out your team.”
    •   •   •
    Fire burned in Mike’s gut like a bonfire. From the cheap booze. From the drug. From the anger at himself for getting caught like a fucking stooge.
    But most of all from the mention of Operation Slam Dunk. The memory of that night still ate at him like a cancer.
    Sell out his team? He’d rather die a thousand times over than ever sell out the One-Eyed Jacks. But he’d burn in hell before he’d defend himself to her.
    She stood over him, cold, hard, demanding, and with the upper hand. He couldn’t help but hate her for that—but not nearly as much as he hated himself. Something had gone terribly wrong that night and all he’d gotten was an impossible choice—life imprisonment, or a deal that had ended up costing him his soul.
    He’d never gotten answers, not one, and he sure as hell didn’t have any to give her.
    “. . . you screwed up and got most of your unit and dozens of innocent civilians killed.”
    Even though the accusation sucked what little fight he had left out of him, he had no intention of rising to her bait.
    “That’s it?” She finally straightened, leaning away from him. “No defense?”
    Her goading tone pissed him off even more. “You’ve already tried and convicted me. What’s the point in defending myself? And speaking of points, what’s yours? Either shoot me, screw me, or set me the hell loose.”
    That threw her. She’d expected answers, not demands. And not a crude indictment of her staged seduction. Judging from her sudden stillness and an unmistakable hint of disappointment in her eyes, she might even have wanted him to deny her charges.
    Now that was interesting.
    Or not. God, he was tired of this crap. He’d drunk himself stupid tonight so he could forget about Afghanistan, only to have this woman throw it in his face like a gallon of acid.
    So much for plan A.
    “It wasn’t me who decided you were guilty,” she said, back in attack mode. “It was a military court. Oh, wait.” She smiled humorlessly. “There was no actual guilty verdict, was there, or you’d be rottingin prison right now. Instead, you cut a deal. Bought yourself a less than honorable discharge in exchange for your freedom and the promise that the incident got buried.”
    “Not deep enough, apparently.” His gaze narrowed on hers. “How do you know about Operation Slam Dunk anyway?” Even the press hadn’t gotten wind of what had happened that night. He had his own theory about the tap dancing that had gone on behind the scenes to accomplish that silence.
    “Like I said. I know everything about you.”
    And then she proved it, nut-shelling the case that the Navy had laid out against him with cold-blooded accuracy.
    He tried not to listen as she hammered him with bullet points.
    Dereliction of duty . . .
    Disobeying direct orders . . .
    Reckless endangerment . . .
    The list went on and on, and all led to the conclusion that he had been responsible for the death of his men and those villagers.
    He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, but couldn’t stall a cold sweat that compounded his queasiness as vivid memories of that night gnawed at him like rats.
    The helo spinning out of control . . . the ground rocketing up to meet them as he fought to right the bird.
    The crash . . .
    The explosion . . .
    The fire . . .
    The stench of blood and burned flesh.
    The deal that had cost him everything.
    Not a day or night went by that he didn’t see those images. Didn’t hear the screams. Didn’t do his best to forget.
    And this woman had brought it all back.
    Who was she?
    And how the fuck had she gotten that information?
    He couldn’t get past that question. The after-action reports, the court-martial transcripts . . . everything about OSD was supposed to have been deleted from